Wolf's Lair welcomed the envoy from Tyrosh — a young governor named Aquito Adris, a man with fiery red hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and the pointed hat distinctive of Tyroshi nobility. He arrived with great pomp, escorted by thirty brightly dressed mercenaries and three Tyroshi nobles, followed by a long train of servants carrying supplies and gifts.
After being halted and questioned by scouts, Governor Aquito was finally led into the military camp near the Wolf's Lair. What he saw immediately impressed him — the soldiers were disciplined and precise: spearmen, swordsmen, charioteers, scouts, and attendants all moving in perfect order, their banners of grey and white snapping in the sea wind.
Ser Jorah announced him in a booming voice as he entered the command tent.
> "Your Excellency, it is my honor to present Governor Aquito Adris, envoy of Tyrosh!"
Inside, Gendry sat behind a heavy oak desk. His piercing blue eyes studied the kneeling envoy. The young commander was broad-shouldered, with black hair and the quiet power of a predator ready to strike. The air inside the tent was heavy with tension.
"So, you are called Aquito as well?" Gendry asked coldly, tapping the hilt of his sword. The envoy trembled slightly under his gaze. The Tyroshi had come to sue for peace — exactly as Gendry had predicted.
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief," Aquito replied, bowing low. "Silver Tongue Arguido Adris was my ancestor."
A quiet murmur rippled through the tent. The name of Silver Tongue, the legendary Tyroshi tyrant, was well known. Few expected one of his blood to stand here today.
"I see the descendants of Silver Tongue still walk the earth," Gendry said, almost amused.
"I am but a shadow of my ancestor," Aquito replied humbly. "I hold one of Tyrosh's governorships, though not the most powerful."
The old maester Qyburn, white-haired and sharp-eyed, observed the scene from his folding chair beside Gendry, flanked by two Unsullied guards. Jorah stood silently to one side.
"Well then, Lord Aquito," said Gendry, "you have come to speak for Tyrosh. What matter brings you here?"
Aquito took a breath. He knew that every word he spoke could determine the fate of his city. "Before stating our purpose," he began carefully, "allow me to present the gifts Tyrosh offers in goodwill."
He straightened, raising his voice.
> "A hundred thousand gold rhombuses from Tyrosh. A hundred barrels of our finest pear brandy. A hundred sets of gold and silver wolf-head armor, crafted by our master smiths. And lastly — a token of our sincerity: the three severed heads of the fugitive governors of Myr."
A stir of surprise and dark satisfaction moved through the tent. Gendry smiled faintly.
"Your generosity is impressive," he said. "Now tell me — what does Tyrosh wish in return?"
The envoy's composure stiffened. "Peace, Your Excellency. Tyrosh seeks peace with the Free Army. We will cede the manors and towns in the Disputed Lands to the Wolves and recognize your rule over Myr. Once the treaty is signed, Tyrosh will send a gift ten times greater than what we offer today."
Gendry leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "And if I refuse? If I take Tyrosh by force, its wealth will be mine without condition."
Aquito's eyes hardened. "Tyrosh is not Myr, Commander. We are not weak. Our walls are black dragonstone, stronger than steel. Our craftsmen forge armor unmatched in the world. And above all, Tyrosh stands united beneath the Three-Headed God — our people will not yield easily."
He paused, then added in a calm but cutting tone:
> "Why choose a long and costly siege when the wealth you desire can come through alliance? You cannot free every slave in the world, nor rebuild Valyria from its ashes. Even leading the Targaryen orphans home would be easier than waging endless wars. The Free Army has enemies on all sides — if you fight everyone, Commander, soon the whole world will stand against you."
The tent fell silent. Even Gendry's closest officers seemed struck by the envoy's boldness. The young governor had spoken with rare courage.
Gendry studied him for a long moment, then drew the Valyrian steel longsword from its scabbard. The dark blade shimmered, reflecting cold firelight.
> "Do you know what this is?"
Aquito's gaze did not waver. "Valyrian steel — sharp and bloodthirsty. One look is enough to know it is death forged into metal. But killing me, Commander, will only make Tyrosh stronger. You'll turn me into a martyr, and my people will fight to the last."
Gendry smiled. "A sharp tongue indeed. You were forced into this role, weren't you?"
"Yes," Aquito admitted. "The Adris family fell long ago. I am barely tolerated on the Council — a convenient figurehead. Yet I do what I must for my people."
"Tyrosh has a peace faction and a war faction," Gendry mused. "Which one do you serve?"
"The peace faction," Aquito answered firmly. "The Nine once conquered Tyrosh — and you, Commander, are as powerful as the Nine combined."
Gendry's expression softened slightly. "I admire you. If ever you find yourself exiled or betrayed, seek refuge with me. Men of reason are always welcome in my ranks."
"Your generosity honors me," Aquito said, bowing again. "Though I pray that day never comes."
"Your gifts tempt me, Lord Aquito," Gendry said finally. "But they have not yet convinced me."
"I will inform the Great Khan," Aquito promised quickly, "and ensure that an even greater tribute is prepared."
Gendry gave a curt nod. "Very well. You've traveled far — rest for now."
The guards escorted the envoy and his entourage to a secluded part of the camp.
---
When they were gone, Gendry turned to his officers.
> "Summon all military commanders. The time has come to prepare our strike on Tyrosh."
"Yes, Commander!" said Qoburn, rising to carry out the order.
That night, a secret war council convened within the largest tent. Present were all the major leaders of the Wolf Pack and the Free Army:
The Handsome Man, chief financial officer and Gendry's economic adviser.
Dick the Arrow Maker, master of logistics.
Maester Qoburn, intelligence chief and Gendry's mentor.
Long Spear, commander of the Wolf Pack cavalry.
Steel Fist, commander of the infantry.
Black Billy, captain of the archers.
Gillo Reha, commander of the Long Pistol Regiment.
Grey Wolf, leader of the Unsullied and the Royal Guard.
Ser Jorah Mormont, knight and commander of the royal escort.
"The Tyroshi envoy brought us gifts and talk of peace," Gendry began, addressing them all. "But do not be fooled. Tyrosh is desperate — and desperate men are dangerous. Their sudden goodwill means they are stalling for time."
"Their true aim," said the Handsome Man darkly, "is to delay until Rhys and Volantis send reinforcements. Once they arrive, Tyrosh will strike Myr again."
Maester Qoburn shook his head. "Not necessarily. The help may come not from Rhys or Volantis — but from the Horse Kings."
"The Dothraki?" someone asked in surprise.
"Indeed," Qoburn said. "Only Khal Drogo's riders could reach Tyrosh swiftly enough. The rulers of Rhys harbor Myr's exiles, but they hesitate to act. Attacking by sea is costly, and none dare face the Free Army on land. Volantis is leaderless; its elections have collapsed into chaos. And in Westeros — Jon Snow is dead, Stannis has abandoned King's Landing, and the capital itself may soon fall into ruin."
Gillo Reha nodded thoughtfully. "It's true. Myr once paid tribute to the Dothraki to keep them from raiding. If Tyrosh now bribes them to attack us, Drogo might ride again — straight into the Disputed Lands."
Grey Wolf spoke calmly, his tone steady. "The Dothraki are fierce, but they can be beaten. Our Unsullied have faced their like before, at the Black Goat City. As long as we hold formation, horsemen cannot break our lines."
Gendry listened, then rose to his feet. His voice cut through the tent like a blade.
> "We cannot allow a three-front war. We strike first. Tyrosh must fall before Drogo rides."
The officers nodded, grim but resolute.
"Harris's fleet will blockade Tyrosh by sea," Gendry continued. "Grey Wolf and Steel Fist will lead the Free Army and part of the Wolf Pack to guard against the Dothraki. I will command the reserve personally."
A few commanders exchanged glances. "A third line of defense?" one asked. "Against whom?"
Gendry's eyes darkened. "Against the enemy within. There are still traitors in Myr — spies and turncoats who would stab us in the back when war begins. We must be ready for them."
The tent fell silent once more. Outside, the cold wind howled across the cliffs of the Narrow Sea, carrying with it the scent of salt and the promise of blood. The Tyroshi envoy might have spoken of peace, but all present knew — the storm was only beginning.
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